


Sanctuary

by PrettyMessedUpSituation (MarcelinesNightosphere)



Series: Drabbles and Ficlets from Prompts [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Choking, Church Sex, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Hate Sex, Humiliation, Hurt No Comfort, Mark of Cain, No Aftercare, Power Dynamics, Restraints, Sub Dean, Teasing, Violent Sex, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5265926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcelinesNightosphere/pseuds/PrettyMessedUpSituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After receiving the Mark, Dean is coming up with nothing concerning the whereabouts of Abaddon. While Sam is on a case in Illinois and Crowley is off with the Blade, a quick drive for a breath of fresh air to distract Dean from his violent urges turns into a fucked up night of sacrilegious acts that he'll never be able to tell anyone about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rachelmclacey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelmclacey/gifts).



> This is fucked up and in no way a depiction of SSC or proper BDSM practices. We’re also assuming consent is not an issue since Josie had her head chopped off and that Abaddon is alone in her body.  
> On tumblr [here.](http://prettymessedupsituation.tumblr.com/post/133744601258/sanctuary)

“I want Crowley. Or what's left of him.”

“Yeah? What's in it for me?”

Abaddon smiles. “I let you die. You give me Crowley's head, and I will snap your neck, quick and clean. You won't feel a thing, trust me.”

“And if I tell you to get bent?”

“Oh. Well, you know, I've loved this body since the moment I first saw it. You're the perfect vessel, Dean. You give a girl all sorts of nasty ideas. So go ahead and play hard to get, and I'll peel off this no demons allowed tattoo and blow smoke up your ass.”

Dean’s knees ached from the fall, especially his right which landed perfectly on a random rock laying in the dirt road that led through the old town. Abaddon’s grip on his shirt collar hardened, twisting it toward her. The coolness of her blade slid down his neck and chest, making his breath hitch. Through gritted teeth, he smiled.

“Do it.”

Abaddon stopped. Her grip loosened and her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s eyes were fiery and defiant. “I said  _do it,_  you hellish bitch.”

A finger uncurled from the blade and let a red nail trail along Dean’s skin, tracing his tattoo. Abaddon tsked. “What a waste. That’s quite an offer, Dean, but I think I’d like to have a little fun before doing anything that drastic.”

A flash of light blinded them. Shards of glass scattered around them, cutting Dean.

Abaddon turned and yelled incredulously, “An angel?!”

“What, you think we'd roll up to this mouse trap without some backup?”

“Next time, Winchester,” Abaddon promised.

Dean looked toward the blown-out windows and when he looked back, she was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dean found nothing. Crowley was off with the Blade, he was coming up with squat, and this ache resonated within him, rooted deep, insatiable and getting worse by the minute. Dean stood, the sound of his chair echoing throughout the empty bunker. He grabbed his car keys and took off.

He drove south to state road 181 and continued until he hit Oak Creek Church. He didn’t know why he’d driven to that church. It felt quiet. Isolated, it gave him some kind of peace, although it was overshadowed by the need that pulled within him. In the middle of nowhere, twenty minutes from the bunker and without reason, he jimmied the lock on the small chapel and entered. He locked it behind him. Two rows of pews led to the front of the sanctuary, the cramped space for the choir and pulpits set on either side of the altar. Dean made his way down the aisle and up to the chancel. An old piano was tucked neatly away against the wall behind the pulpit and choir. Dean let his fingers dance over the keys. He lightly pressed down to play four bars of a melody, and turned to see Abaddon in the front pew.

“A church. Not exactly where I thought I’d find you.” She stood and began walking toward Dean. “Suddenly, you appeared on every radar after being MIA. Handsome boy alone on a country road surrounded by wheat fields, lost and made of self-hatred, looking for someone to murder. The picture of Americana.” Three steps separated them. Abaddon looked up to Dean with a smile. “You want to kill me, don’t you?” she asked. Dean squeezed his fist around an imaginary knife. Abaddon continued, “But you can’t.”

Dean held up his hands, weaponless. “Missing a piece of hardware.”

“Let me guess,” Abaddon said, glancing at Dean’s arm knowingly, seeing what was beneath the sleeve of his jacket. “Crowley?”

Dean looked down his nose at Abaddon. “If I had known that looking for you only took me going off on my own, I’d’ve kept the damn thing and took a walk.”

“Why did you come out of your mystery hole no one can seem to find?”

“I...I’m not sure.” Dean thought for a moment. He had no idea why he left, why he drove there - he just needed to get out of the bunker for a while.

“I should kill you.”

She could. Dean decided to press his luck. “Should. But you won’t.”

Abaddon’s fingers moved deftly down the front of Dean’s shirt. “Won’t is better than can’t.” Her hands moved up and cupped Dean’s face. “What I said still stands. The perfect vessel. Maybe even moreso now, if rumors are true.” Her hands dropped gently to his jacket collar. “Let’s do a little fact checking.” She pulled hard, forcing Dean to his knees on the steps above her. He winced, but didn’t put up a fight. She removed his jacket slowly, revealing the Mark on his arm. Her eyebrow cocked as if she was pleased with the confirmation, her blood-red lips curling into a devilish grin. “Dean, Dean, Dean. I bet you’ve got all kinds of pent up aggression.”

His jaw clenched. “Something like that.”

Abaddon lifted his chin. “I can give you release.”

Dean stared up at her in mixed admiration and disgust. He couldn’t help but be in awe of her. He longed for this release, whatever it was. At that point, he didn’t care. The Mark was beginning to consume him, and if he couldn’t kill her, he needed something else.

“What makes you think you can give me anything I need?” She wouldn’t kill him, that much Dean knew. She would have done it already. But if she wasn’t going to kill him, she must have some other torture already in mind.

Abaddon leaned down. Her face pressed against his, she whispered, “Because I’m the only one who knows exactly what you need. What you want. And I think you know it.”

He swallowed hard. His jaw hurt from how hard his teeth ground against each other. Abaddon’s thumb traced under his lip and he subconsciously let his mouth fall open as it grazed his skin. A slow exhale escaped him, a moan brewed in the back of his throat. The relaxation of sexual heat moved through his body and his arm ached. Admittedly, he needed release; he wanted it, and this was the next best thing to killing her.

“In lieu of being killed right here in this church,” Abaddon began as she leveled herself out to look straight into Dean’s eyes, “how about you submit to me?”

Dean scoffed, but the flicker of excitement in his eyes betrayed his interest.

Abaddon stood, her back straight and chest out, confident. “I’ll even allow you to claim sanctuary if necessary, even though that’s not exactly my gig.” Dean glared at her, but didn’t dissent. “Nod if you’re game. If not, I’ll walk out those doors and disappear. You can find me some other time. Maybe then you’ll have your...missing equipment.” Her eyes flicked down suggestively, then back to meet Dean’s, her grin broadening.

He felt challenged. A wave of excitement rolled through him and picked up speed when thoughts of deviance crossed his mind. The Mark burned, desperate. In that moment, he felt there was no other choice than to answer its call.

“Bring it,” Dean said through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry?” Abaddon asked, as if she hadn’t heard him.

Dean nodded.

“That’s better.” Abaddon stepped up to the chancel where Dean knelt. She circled him from behind with predation, and her vicious gaze burned into his skin.

Abaddon lit two candles with a box of matches on a ledge in the lectern and watched the flames dance before she turned back to Dean. His shoulders heaved with tension, obvious that he struggled to not move from where she’d left him. She stepped in front of him again, eyes locked on his as she lifted his shirt from the bottom. Abaddon raked her nails up his sides as she raised it over his head and cast it into the floor behind her without looking.

“You can’t touch me, understand?”

Dean nodded.

“Don’t even move unless I tell you to.” Without releasing eye contact, she moved her hands down to his belt and unbuckled it. In a quick movement, she whipped the belt off. “Pull down your pants, then put your hands behind your back.”

Dean complied. He unbuttoned his pants and slid them off his hips. When he pushed them down to his knees, Abaddon leaned back.

“Commando?”

“My lifestyle doesn’t really lend itself to underwear.” Dean couldn’t help but have a smug look on his face as he watched Abaddon admire every inch of him. Obediently, he then put his hands behind his back.

Abaddon stepped behind him. With belt in hand, she halved it and tapped it against the outside of her thigh, in thought. Dean stared out into the dark of the church and wondered how the night had made this turn. He waited in silence until suddenly a thwap rang out into the darkness. Pain shot through his ass cheek, but he braced himself and refused to make a noise. A moment later a similar sound and sensation struck his left side. Dean could feel welts raise up on his skin, but instead of crying out for sanctuary, he wanted more. She struck him once more on each side, the blows painful enough to cause his vision to darken and slowly come back. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he was able to blink them back. His back stayed rigid and he didn’t flinch when Abaddon wrapped his belt around his wrists that were still held obediently behind his back. She cinched the belt tight. The end hung down and grazed the raw skin on his ass and he jerked slightly.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

Dean nodded. Yes, it hurt. But the pain felt deserved, as if somehow this absolved him of all the evil he had done as well as his future sins, the terrible things he longed to do. It felt controlled. It felt clean.

“Let me do something to take your mind off of that.”

Dean’s breath grew quicker as he waited. Abaddon came around to face him, stepping down to even their gaze. As she stripped slowly out of her clothes, she watched as Dean’s throat rose and fell with a hard swallow, his cock hard. Topless, she bent over and unlaced her boot, drawing out the laces before she took it off and threw it to the side. Dean’s mouth watered at the sight of her. His cock strained and he flexed his wrists, testing how secured they were. He found himself bound tightly and aching. Abaddon slid out of her pants and stepped out of them, the leather pooled at her feet. She stood before him in black bra and panties, her pale skin luminous in the low candlelit glow around them. Abaddon stepped forward and up, just barely letting her body touch Dean’s, her breasts level with his face. He wanted to bury his face in her chest, to mouth her breasts, to flick her nipples with his tongue, but he wasn’t allowed to move. His jaw dropped and his eyes closed, fantasizing about what he could do if he was just free to do so. Abaddon smiled. She let her breast graze against his face and Dean’s mouth chased it. His head began to lean against her body when she stopped moving, asking to touch her, but she turned and slapped him with the back of her hand.  

With a tone of pity she questioned him. “How long has it been since you’ve been touched, since you’ve touched someone?”

“You’d be surprised. Recently I lost -”

“I’m not talking about a one-night fling where you did whatever you had to do to get your dick wet. I’m guessing it’s been quite awhile since you were ravaged properly, or ravaged anyone.” Abaddon dragged her hand across his chest and up his neck as she stepped behind him. “Or let me guess - you’re a love-maker, not a fucker?”

Dean rolled his shoulders. “I guess you could say that.”

“Well I’m afraid to tell you, Dean - that Mark on your arm might just change your style.”

Nearly naked in the church with his back to the altar, Dean stayed rigid, his knees shoulder-width apart, unable to sit back on his heels due to the welts on his ass. Abaddon circled him, her nails dragging across his skin as she slowly passed by, pulling his hair back as she went. She moved in front of him, passing her breasts close to his face.

“Would you like to taste me?”

Dean nodded, his lips full and parted as he exhaled.

Abaddon pulled the back of his head toward her and pressed his face into her breasts. Dean let out a moan and dragged his lower lip up her skin. He looked up to her for permission and received a nod. He circled her nipple with his tongue and flicked it before putting his mouth on her, moaning as he did so. He sucked on her, nipped her; his cock twitched in anticipation. He pulled at his wrists and began feeling the frustration of not being able to use his hands.

“Would you like to taste me?” Abaddon asked again. She slid her middle finger, wet from touching herself, around his lips.

Dean licked his lips and the base of his cock throbbed. She tasted so good. He needed more. Before he could say anything, Abaddon slammed him back onto the floor. He cried out and lifted his ass off the wooden floor by propping them up on his fists, still bound behind his back. Abaddon straddled his face backwards, her panties still on. Ignoring the pain of the fall, Dean mouthed the black lace, lapping at her, nipping her through the barrier. His cock dripped. Untouched and straining, he bucked up involuntarily.

“If you really want it, you’ll get it,” Abaddon said, feigning boredom.

Dean took the panties into his teeth and pulled, trying to tear through. He gave up and opened his mouth wide, licking the length of her slit, letting his bottom jaw follow, his teeth raking along the lace. Abaddon lifted herself up off of his face and tore one side of her panties, ripping them enough that Dean could touch her bare. She sat back down and rocked back and forth for a moment before stopping, letting Dean catch up. He moaned as he lapped at her cunt, sucking and licking her, his face buried into her. His arms ached and his legs began to shake, unable to hold himself up like that much longer.

Suddenly he felt the sensation of hot wax dripping on his stomach. The candles. That bitch. He gasped for breath and groaned, his entire body tensing up. The pouring continued until the candles had no more wax to give. Abaddon got up off of him and moved in the low light toward the altar. Dean writhed in the floor, his jeans around his ankles, boots still on, hands bound behind him with his belt, cock hard and dripping, his stomach covered in wax. But he had tasted her, and he wanted more.

“I feel like if I release your hands you would be like a wild animal.”

“Why don’t you give it a try? Something tells me you’d like it,” Dean said from the floor.

“Get up and come to me.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Everything hurt. He rolled to his stomach and sat back up on his knees. With aggravated effort, he jumped to his feet and trudged to Abaddon who stood naked at the altar.

“Ask nicely.”

“Will you please unbind my wrists?”

Abaddon tapped her finger on her chin. “I think you can ask nicer than that.”

Dean couldn’t wait for her to release his hands. He was going to grab her, choke her, bend her over the altar and fuck her. “Abaddon, please. Please release me.”

“Ooh, I like that,” she said. “Abaddon, please, please release me,” she repeated in a condescendingly teasing tone. Dean’s eyes flared with anger. “If I release you, and you don’t fuck me until I can’t walk or otherwise disappoint, I’ll tie you back up and leave you on the altar for Sunday morning’s repenters.”

Dean didn’t say a word. His breath quickened. He waited like a runner listening for the gun to fire. Abaddon snapped her fingers and the belt snapped. Dean slowly moved his arms to his sides, feeling the pull of strained muscles. He slowly stepped toward Abaddon, a growl rumbling in his throat. The Mark burned and he felt as if something else was taking over - and he let it. He snatched Abaddon by her hair and jerked her head back, exposing her neck. Dean raked his teeth up her neck and sucked at the base of her jaw, ending with a sharp bite. He lifted her up and slammed her onto the altar, sending a stack of collection plates clattering to the floor. Climbing up onto the offering table, he took hold of her hair with one hand and touched her with his other. He rolled her nipple between his fingers and squeezed her breast, he scratched down her side and grabbed her hip. He rutted against her, feeling how wet she was, letting his cock slide back and forth as he rocked.

“You going to fuck me yet?” Abaddon asked, her breath already labored.

Dean pushed inside her in one weighted movement. He fucked into Abaddon relentlessly, jarring her breasts with each thrust, pushing her to the center of the table. She quivered and moaned beneath him, and just before she was about to come he pulled out.

“On your knees.”

The dynamic had changed. The command curled out of his mouth. Abaddon obeyed. Dean snatched a priest’s stole that had been draped over the altar and wrapped it around Abaddon’s neck. He pulled up on it and pushed into her, his hand grasped her shoulder and pulled her back onto his cock. Dean slammed into her, pulling back on the stole. He felt her walls squeeze and massage his cock as she came, hot and wet. He kept going, sweat dripping from his brow, fucking her harder until she cried out when he came.

_“Sanctuary!”_

Dean released the stole and Abaddon’s head dropped. He pulled out of her with an accomplished grin and she collapsed onto the altar. Dean pulled his jeans up and zipped them, leaving the button undone. He found his shirt and tugged it over his head. Abaddon was still collapsed on the altar. He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on, making sure his wallet and keys were still in the pocket.

“Hate to fuck and run,” he said, “but maybe you’re onto something about the Mark changing my style.”

Abaddon pulled herself up and draped the stole around her neck. It covered her breasts and she lifted her hair up to let it fall over her back. “Until next time then.”

“Next time,” Dean said as he opened the door to the church, “next time I kill you.”

 

 


End file.
